Almost Love (19 page)

She thrust her hands into her pockets and began to walk back to the hotel.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Andy Carstairs was having a frustrating time. Thobias Padgett was a quick learner; like his elder brother LeRoy, he had an intuitive understanding of how to play the system.

Thobias was now sitting in solemn state with an entourage of protective adults, each one determined to shield him from police brutality and any other rude intrusions upon his sensitive young mind. Thobias accepted their attentions with the impervious grace of a plump young Buddha. Andy detected no recurrence of the hysterical fear that the child had displayed on the previous day. The only sign of possible inner turmoil was that he was still quite taciturn. His demeanour was calm, even dignified, and the troupe of attendant adults was clearly impressed. They seemed to have forgotten that he and they were crammed into this room because he was suspected of being a petty criminal who had stumbled into a bigger crime by accident. Andy sighed. In his opinion, Thobias was a devious little bastard who had been all too quick to cotton on to the fact that he could run rings round all of them and stick a finger up to the police in the process.

Marlene, wearing a woollen dress patterned with horizontal black, purple and yellow stripes that lent her more than a passing resemblance to a giant bumblebee, was holding Thobias’s hand and stroking it tenderly. Like her son, she had sussed out her audience quickly to find ways of playing up to its expectations. The whole group was seated at the small oblong table that occupied most of the room: five larger-than-average adults and one diminutive youth; all of them except Andy, who paced back and forth the short distance from wall to wall like a caged cat. He paused and folded his arms.

“Now, Thobias,” he said, his voice as warm as he could make it, “I want you to think very carefully. Exactly when did you last see LeRoy?”

Thobias made a quick sweep of all the faces intent upon his answer and decided that it would be in his best interests to comply.

“When he said I could borrow his bike,” he said in a subdued voice.

“When was that? Which day of the week?”

“The day that he asked me to do the job.”

“Can you remember which day of the week it was?”

The child gazed at him.

“Come on, Thobias, it can’t be that difficult to think back. Which day of the week was it?”

Thobias studied the thumb of his right hand, and put it in his mouth. Marlene continued her rhythmic stroking of his left hand.

“Well, at least give me an answer, even if it’s only to tell me that you don’t remember.” Andy had inadvertently raised his voice; in fact, he was almost shouting in his exasperation. Thobias’s eyes filled with tears. His face crumpled. Jack Lewis sprang to life.

“DC Carstairs, I’m going to have to ask you to be much more sensitive to the child’s state of mind. You know that he has been badly frightened and he is undoubtedly traumatised by his experiences. It is very important that he learns to rely on us now. He must be able to think of us as friends who will keep him safe. Browbeating and bullying will not help. I shall take steps to ensure that his feelings are respected. If you find that his understandable reticence taxes your patience too greatly, I’m sure that Superintendent Thornton can be asked to provide someone else. A lady detective, perhaps.”

Andy raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them and tried to catch Gary Cooper’s eye. Gary looked away quickly. Andy fervently hoped that this was because he regarded the situation as ludicrous and not because he had been drawn into the magic circle of child-worshippers.

“I’m sorry if you think that I have been too precipitate,” he said. “Perhaps Marlene – Mrs Padgett – can help. Mrs Padgett, can you remember when LeRoy last came home?”

Marlene adjusted her countenance to convey that she was concentrating with some ferocity. Her velvet forehead furrowed.

“Well, now, it may be Sunday.”

“It either was or it wasn’t,” snapped Andy. He saw Jack Lewis shift uneasily in his seat, and adopted a more emollient tone. “You must be able to remember – try to use some memory props to think back.” Marlene stared blankly. “I mean, think about what you
do
remember about Sunday. What did you cook and who was there when you ate? Did you provide LeRoy with any meals?”

“Not right sure. Always I cook for everyone, an’ LeRoy, but he don’t always show up.”

“But he does still live with you?”

“Do usually. He not home now.”

“So you said yesterday. Do you know when LeRoy last went to school?”

“Not since holidays, I think. I tell ’im about court order an’ all.”

“But he has been living at home for most of the time since he was last at school?”

“I tell you. He mostly with us. Only when trouble he go away.”

“Mrs Padgett, did you know about the errands that LeRoy sent Thobias on?”

“Not sure, no.”

“What does ‘not sure’ mean?”

“Well, I see them whisper together. Then, when LeRoy go out, Thobias come and tell me LeRoy promise to lend him his bike. My little boy overjoyed!” She is laying it on with a trowel now, thought Andy, but no-one else in the room seemed sceptical.

“But he didn’t tell you why LeRoy said he could borrow the bike?”

“Not ’til after, when policeman bring him home. He say then about the errand. He scared – he know he done wrong – a good boy, really. LeRoy a good boy, too,” she added, instantly detracting from the credibility of her opinion of Thobias.

“What happened to the bike?”

Thobias burst into tears.

“LeRoy will kill me,” he said.

Gary Cooper volunteered an answer.

“The bike was lost when Thobias visited the milk bar,” he said. “Thobias told me about it last night. He propped it up against the wall of the milk bar, which is right next to some waste ground. He said that he’d only intended to pop in for a minute to get some hot chocolate. But when the proprietor saw the wad of notes that he was carrying, he insisted on detaining Thobias and called the police. When he was allowed outside again the bike had vanished.

“It was you pigs made me lose it,” said Thobias defiantly, half-sobbing through scanty tears.

“Hush, Thobs,” said Marlene soothingly. “All be fine, you see.” It was as if she’d taken on the demeanour of the social workers by being in close proximity to them.

“Thobias,” said Andy, squatting on his haunches so that he could look up at the boy’s face, “you were caught because you were going to pay for the hot chocolate that you bought in the milk bar with money from the parcel that you’d been given to carry back. You’d been given strict instructions not to look inside that parcel. What made you disobey?”

“The paper tore,” said the child, looking shifty, “so I could see inside. I was only going to take one of the twenties. They’d never of known. ’Sides, LeRoy never paid me, so they owed it me.”

“Who would never have known? Who owed you the money, Thobias?”

“LeRoy and . . . the others.”

“Which others, Thobias? Can you tell me their names?”

The boy fell silent again, his face a smooth mask.

“I said, which others, Thobias!” Andy was standing up straight again. He was almost shouting. Thobias began to whimper again.

“DC Carstairs, I am going to have to ask you again to go easier on the boy. You can see that you are upsetting him and you must be perfectly aware that you are exceeding what is permitted by law, especially when the interrogation is of a minor.”

All of the other adults in the room fixed their eyes on Andy. He knew that Thobias was also watching him through the splayed fingers of his free hand. It made Andy’s blood boil.

“All right,” Andy said, smacking his own forehead with the flat of his palm. “Would you like to try to talk to him, Tom? You had some success yesterday.”

“Marie’s the professional child psychologist,” said Tom Tarrant. “That’s why we asked her here. She’ll know better than anyone else how best to talk to him in this more formal situation. Thobias, you do know that everything that you are saying is being recorded, don’t you?”

Thanks for that, thought Andy. Jack Lewis had already explained this to Thobias and Andy had announced that the tape recorder was on when he had pressed the switch. But there was nothing like ramming home the point to make the child clam up completely.

Marie Krakowska stood up and rustled round the table in her prickly wool skirt. She hitched it up a little to reveal striped scarlet and beige stockings, and knelt on the floor just in front of Thobias’s chair. She sat back on her heels and rested her substantial buttocks on the cushion of cloth that this action had created. Marlene still had hold of Thobias’s left hand. Marie now proceeded to stroke the wrist of his right one.

“Thobias,” she said softly, staring at the child hypnotically with her pale blue eyes, “Look at me.”

Thobias fixed his eyes on the floor.

“Thobias, you do as the lady says, now. She nice lady.”

Thobias did not look up. Unexpectedly, Marlene let go of his hand and in the same movement raised her own to give him a smart clip round the ear.

Pandemonium broke out. Tom Tarrant rushed round the table to help comfort Thobias, who was shrieking at the top of his voice. Marie had already lifted him down from the chair and was pressing him into her ample broderie anglaise-frilled bosom. Marlene herself was crying noisily in response to Jack Lewis’s quiet admonishments.

Andy groaned. “Heaven give me strength!” he exclaimed. “We’re none of us likely to get any sense out of the kid now.”

“Is it all right if I go?” PC Cooper asked. “They’re searching the woods at Helpston and I’ve been detailed to join them.”

Andy nodded. “Sure, you get off,” he said. “Thanks for your help with this.”

“Jammy devil,” he added sotto voce as Gary edged past him. PC Cooper managed to look solemn but there was the glimmer of a smile in his eye. The door closed behind him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tim had arranged to meet Jane Halliwell in the foyer of the Welland Manor hotel. It was strange to be returning there only a few days after he had met Alex Tarrant and interviewed Oliver Sparham. The archaeology conference was long over, its members dispersed, and the hotel seemed much more run-down and desolate than when they had filled it with their eccentric presence. Jane was waiting for him. She was dressed in a long camel coat and brown leather knee-length boots. There was a silk scarf knotted with faux carelessness around her neck. Even he, unversed in fashion as he was, recognised it unmistakably as a purchase from Herm
è
s.

He had deliberately left Jane to her own devices to see whether she would make the first move. He thought that if she had asked for news or whether she might visit the cottage it would give him further insight into her character. He was slightly surprised by her silence, since he had suggested that he might be asking her to accompany him to the cottage on the same day that she’d visited the police station. Several days had now gone by. Jane had kept silent. He had not been able to gauge her reaction when he had called her that morning to apologise for not having contacted her earlier, with the request that she accompany him now. There was a brief silence before she spoke; then she was courteous forbearance itself: “Oh, that is quite all right. I know that you have a great deal to do. And this afternoon is perfectly convenient for me.”

Now he was stretching out his hand in order to receive the same birdlike handshake that had distinguished their first meeting. He thanked her again.

“Ms Halliwell – I hope that you are better rested than when we last met? I should like to thank you again for co-operating.”

“It is not only my pleasure, Inspector, but the least that I can do while you are trying to find Claudia.” She withdrew her hand and looked at him intently. “I take it that there is no news?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ve searched the entire area for clues and contacted all the hospitals. Like you, Guy Maichment could not think of many close friends whom she might have taken it into her head to visit, but we have contacted everyone on the small list that he provided. Her professional contacts are legion, of course, but her disappearance has been so well-publicised that I doubt whether any of them could be unaware that we are looking for her or would be irresponsible enough to harbour her secretly. What do you think?” he asked suddenly, deciding to put Jane to the test a little.

She blinked, but continued to meet his eye.

“I think it’s highly unlikely. Claudia and I have been living a very secluded life for several years. I go away to meet friends occasionally, but she never does; and she rarely has visitors, apart from Guy. She mainly keeps in touch with people by telephone. But I’ve told you this before.”

“Quite. Shall we walk to the car?” asked Tim, indicating that she should precede him. She nodded and walked so briskly across the flagged floor, her high heels tapping the stones in a businesslike manner, that he had to hurry to get to the door first in order to open it for her. Once in the courtyard they fell into step beside each other. Tim continued to talk in a conversational way.

“How long have you known Dame Claudia?”

“Oh – let me think – it must be the best part of a decade. But I’ve only been her secretary-companion for about five years.”

“Have you lived with her all of that time?”

“Yes, since I took the job. Not before. You’ve seen where we live, Detective Inspector. It is a very isolated place. It would have been impossible for me to have lived with her and continued in my former occupation.”

“What was your former occupation, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Of course not. I was a lecturer at Lincoln University. That was where I met Guy. He was a mature student. He was taking a course in landscape design so that he could set up his own business. We shared various interests, so I met him socially on a number of occasions. He talked about his aunt quite a lot – as you may have gathered, they have a kind of love-hate relationship. Guy is often exasperated by her, but he is also very proud of her. I had heard of her myself and asked if he could arrange for us to meet. She hadn’t bought the house at Helpston then; she was living in a terrace in Stamford. But she didn’t like small town life and was already looking for somewhere else. I believe that it was Guy who subsequently found the cottage for her. They are very alike in some respects. They both like to live in deserted places.”

“And you don’t?”

“I manage. I need to get away from solitude more than they do. I don’t mean for holidays; the Norwegian trip was my first holiday in three years. But I do like to visit the theatre and cinema and to go to libraries and bookshops. I make a point of keeping in touch with civilisation. However, it is peaceful where we live. Was, perhaps I should say.” She gave a bleak little laugh.

“This is my car,” said Tim, unlocking it. He noted that she was more expansive than when they had first met and, despite her last comment, seemed to have unwound yet further during their short walk across the courtyard. As they began the slow journey to the old lodge gate, he resumed his gentle questioning.

“So she offered you the job after she moved to Helpston?”

“Yes; quite a long time afterwards.”

“You will forgive me for saying that it’s difficult to understand why you accepted the offer. What attraction could acting as the companion of an elderly woman – even a very eminent one – hold for someone who has an established position in a university?”

“I am not her nursemaid, Detective Inspector. I am employed as her secretary-companion, with the emphasis decidedly on the secretary part. I accepted her offer without hesitation because I happen to believe in her life’s work. She has a closely-guarded secret to which only Guy and I are privy. I will tell it to you so that you understand the situation completely, but I must first ask you to respect that it is strictly confidential.”

“I am happy to keep anything that you may tell me secret unless I believe that it will further jeopardise her safety. Or yours, of course.”

Jane Halliwell gave him one of her level looks. She paused, then announced with some éclat:

“Claudia is working on a book which draws together all of her past work, and that of others, to create a comprehensive exegesis of her semantic theory. I am helping her to do it. Her brain is as bright as ever, but, as we’ve already discussed, she rarely leaves the house, so she cannot check references in libraries; and she is too old – and possibly too contrary – to learn how to access library materials through the internet. She doesn’t type, either. My role is therefore that of researcher, secretary, editorial and occasional amanuensis, rolled into one. She doesn’t want anyone to know that she is writing the book, because she wants to spring it on the world as a total surprise. It will be both her swansong and the crowning work of her career. It will also vindicate her and turn the tables on the many establishment figures – men, mostly – who have ridiculed or discounted her writings over the past fifty years and more.”

“I see,” said Tim. He wished that he could think of something more imaginative – more responsive – to the gushing fanfare of Jane Halliwell’s announcement than this terse sentence, but no other words sprang to mind. He could feign no enthusiasm for the project. “Thank you for telling me,” he added.

They had left the grounds of the hotel and were driving sedately along the main road to Helpston, their progress hindered by the inevitable tractor in front. Tim debated whether to ask Jane directly about Dame Claudia’s politics and decided that he would not risk alerting her to his interest in them. He needed more time to consider the implications of her revelation about the book. If indeed she occupied as central a role in Claudia’s work and was as enthusiastic about her theories as she claimed, it was likely that Jane herself held strongly right-wing views. Not that there was any crime in that. But the unease that he had felt at their first meeting was not dissipated by her new-found talkativeness.

“We have not been able to stage a reconstruction of Dame Claudia’s last hours before she vanished,” he said, “because we have no idea what she did after Oliver Sparham left her at about 4 p.m. It would be useful to know how she normally spent her time. Could you describe to me a typical day in her life – in both your lives?”

“I can try. You should be aware that we don’t have a strict routine. I know that many writers religiously devote certain hours of the day to their work. Claudia doesn’t have the temperament for that; she is too undisciplined and disorganised. But she works for quite a long period every day – it could be in the morning, the afternoon, or the evening – and she almost always gets up early, often before 7 a.m. She herself says that this is a legacy from the time when she worked in the desert before the Second World War, when she had to make the most of the early morning before the heat of the sun became too oppressive. But Claudia is quite a romantic and a great mythologiser of her own past. I suspect that these days she gets up early because she doesn’t sleep too well. Her arthritis is severe and plagues her, especially when she is lying down.”

“Her nephew told me that she sometimes sleeps all night in an armchair.”

“That may be true when I’m not there – which is rarely, as you know. When I am there, I usually manage to persuade her to go to bed – though often it is very late when she retires.”

“That must be tiring for you. Do you get up as early as she does?”

“Rather earlier, usually. Depending on the weather, I like to go for a run, or a brisk walk, in the woods before we have breakfast. I’m quite keen on keeping fit and I have little other opportunity for exercise.”

“Do you prepare the breakfast?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes Claudia does it while I’m out. I actually prefer to do it myself because she’s so messy. But she means well, and I don’t like to be unkind when she is willing to make the effort.”

“And afterwards you both begin to work?”

“As I’ve said, Claudia has no regular routine. I certainly always work in the mornings myself. If Claudia is not ready to dictate – she dictates to me two or three pages at each of our sessions on the actual book – she may wish to read parts of her previous works, or those of others, in order to refresh her memory. I help her to do this by taking notes as she requires, or marking certain passages for us to refer back to again. I may even read aloud to her. Sometimes she doesn’t want to work at all. On these occasions, I catch up with the typing or the checking of references. But she’ll then need me to work with her later on. Usually in the afternoon, but occasionally in the evening.”

“What does she do when she isn’t working?”

“When I first came, she was quite active. She would go for short walks in the woods or do some gardening. She could drive the car then, too, though I’m not certain that she’s ever taken a driving test. But I’m afraid that the arthritis has curtailed most of these activities; and, of course, Guy looks after the garden now. She spends most of her free time listening to the radio or to records. She’s got a big vinyl collection. She watches television occasionally, but not very often. She much prefers the radio. And she reads newspapers when we can get them, but no newsagent will deliver so far out, so we are dependent on Guy to bring them when he visits.”

“Doesn’t it distract you if she’s listening to the radio when you’re trying to work?”

“I usually work in the conservatory when Claudia doesn’t need me. She stays in the sitting-room most of the time now.”

“Does she ever work without you? When you were in Norway, for example, would she have carried on writing a little by herself or would she have simply planned to take a break until your return?”

“She wouldn’t have done any actual writing without me,” Jane said, a little emphatically, Tim thought. “But she may have done some reading. She might even have made some notes – though she would have been more likely to have used her Dictaphone.”

“That’s interesting,” said Tim, his tone conveying the opposite. He was racking his brains, trying to conjure up a complete picture of Claudia’s sitting-room. Dictaphone? He was sure that he would have remembered if one had been found. The SOCOs would certainly have recorded its presence if it had been there and taken any tapes away for analysis. He would check their inventory and also double-check the cottage himself when he and Jane arrived.

“Tell me,” he said, “how much of the book is there still left to write? I appreciate that it is a weighty work and will be taking a long time to complete. You have been working on it for – how long? Five years now?”

“About four years,” said Jane. “There was a lot of planning to do and information to track down, before we started. But if you’re thinking that we must be near to publication, you are correct. The book is three-quarters finished now. Of course, there will still be a lot of checking and proofing to do when the first draft is completed.”

“Is the publisher Dame Claudia’s usual one? The MacLachan Press, I believe?” Tim was indebted to Juliet for this piece of information.

“Not . . . exactly.”

“Oh?”

“We may offer it to a commercial publisher eventually; and as you say, the MacLachan Press has first refusal on her work. But initially the plan is to print it ourselves, for private circulation only. Publishing is much easier and cheaper these days, since the invention of digital printing and e-books.” Jane contrived rapidly to climb out of a tense moment by offering this airily expansive general observation.

“Indeed. But it seems a pity to deny this work – Dame Claudia’s magnum opus, no less – to the world at large.”

“Her work is caviar to the general, Detective Inspector, as her critics have proved,” said Jane Halliwell briskly. “Ah, here we are. It would seem that some of your colleagues have arrived before us.”

Despite the fact that of course he knew that he had taken the turn-off to Claudia’s cottage, Tim had not been paying attention to the last leg of their journey. He followed the direction of Jane’s line of vision and saw Patti Gardiner’s small white van parked neatly at the side of the road.